Not My Elf
by vrudim
Summary: After tragedy strikes in Helm's Deep, an already strong friendship grows even stronger and leads to many more after the War is over. This is a tale of how a friendship developed between some inhabitants of Erebor and Mirkwood and the events that transpire
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Everything that is familiar belongs to Tolkien or Peter Jackson. I own nothing but the plot.

It is dark. Too dark. Oppressive. I shiver in the foreboding air. Slowly, they approach the wall, their hatred and the sound of their metal boots sharply hitting the ground preceding them by what seems like miles. A flash of lightning bolts across the starless sky, quickly followed by rain. I shiver again. I do not like being wet and the armor I am wearing does little to protect me from the moisture. My beard is wet and getting heavy and my nerves are getting tight. I can see nothing but the volume of stamping feet has heightened and the men and elf near me are getting tense. Lightning flashes. The Elf's eyes go wide in fright.

"What's going on out there?" I ask him. I try to see over the barrier but it's too high.

"Shall I describe it to you?" The Elf asks. "Or would you like me to find you a box?"

I laugh in response. There are some things he will always tease me about and my short height is one of them.

I glance at him again in seriousness. There is fear in his blue eyes and tension in his body. His bow is held in a white knuckle grip. The hate is getting to him. Even I sense its overbearing nature and I am not near as sensitive as he. I try to meet his eyes but he keeps his gaze away. I do not doubt that he believes the hate to be directed at him. They have been hunting the elf since the start of the quest. In every encounter, entire bands of orcs and uruk hai had left the group to hunt him down. So far he's managed to escape but I do not know how long his luck will last.

A yell sounds across the plain and over the barrier blocking my sight. I stiffen but excitement battles with my nerves. Finally I can do something. The Uruk hai will finally meet my ax. I will kill more Uruk-hais than my pointy-eared companion.

The elf is still watching all that is occurring below. Aragorn is pacing the area behind us, giving us a few last words of advice and bravery. He stops by us and looks out into the field ahead. Fear passes through his grey eyes, but it is quickly replaced by determination.

"Aragorn! Archers in the distance!" the elf suddenly exclaims following yet another flash of lightning.

Aragorn yells something in Rohirrim so the Uruk-hai don't understand and ducks behind the barricade. All the men heed his warning and as one get low to the ground behind the barricade. Legolas quickly follows their lead. Not a moment later, a sea of arrows sails through the air above us, some hitting the men below. A few pass through Legolas's long hair before it returns to its place on his shoulders.

Aragorn rises a moment later, soon followed by the other men and elf. He gazes out into the field, blue eyes searching for more trouble. Another yell sounds across the plain. The Uruk-hais are now probably very close to the short wall. All the men around us tense, their fear evident in every aspect of their being. They aren't soldiers, but men, many of which have seen too many winters, or too few summers. The sounds of the hammering of the Uruk-hai's spears on the ground frightens them. Even Aragorn is nervous.

"Your friends are with you, Aragorn," Legolas says beside me.

"Let's hope they last the night," I mutter in response. There were many arrows sailing over us a moment ago, and many of our men are already dead or injured, yet the battle has yet to even begin. If men are dying now, there is little hope that most will survive the entire battle.

With a determined look in his eyes, Aragorn leaves us and patrols the wall again, speaking in the language of the Rohirrim.

"Show them no mercy!" he yells, "For they will give you none!"

The fear remains in the eyes of the men, but there's something else present as well. They are still worried and afraid, but determination is in their eyes as well.

"Prepare to fire!" Aragorn yells. All the men of Rohirrim and Legolas load their bows and aim at the Uruk-hais below. It is evident even to the untrained eye that not all who shoot now are proficient with the bow. I remember Legolas's words about how he wishes to have a hundred of Mirkwood's best archers with him, here right now. I understand that sentiment now. He is now one of very few masters of the bow present, and I do not doubt that he feels the weight of such a burden.

There is suddenly a silence. I frantically look around, but nobody responds. Not a breath is taken, not a spear is hammered against the ground or a foot stomped. It is punctuated by the sound of an Uruk-hai in pain, and then the sound of something heavy and solid hitting the ground.

"HOLD!" Aragorn yells in Rohirrian.

There is a roar from below and the sound of many running feet. The ground trembles and the wall shakes. A few of the men below us gasp in horror, for the horde coming at us is bigger than it had seemed. I try to see over the wall again but can see nothing. Legolas doesn't comment on it again, though. His bow is loaded, his eyes marking the path of the arrow that will soon fly from it. There is deep concentration in his face and a light tension in his body. It is almost as if he is excited by the notion of another fight and horrified by it.

"Fire!" Aragorn yells from behind us somewhere. All around me, bow strings sing as every being on the wall releases their arrows at the Uruk-hais below.

"Did anybody hit anything?" I ask Legolas, but he is already reloading and preparing to fire again. The rest of the men are doing the same.

"Keep firing!" Aragorn yells, and the bows sing again. They continue to sing for a while, but still there are roars from beneath. How many uruks are down there? "Ladders!" Aragorn suddenly yells.

"Good," I say. Finally they are coming to me. Legolas keeps firing but at last I see my first Uruk-hai. He is slowly scaling the ladder nearest me, black-armed hands gripping the wooden steps. His face is completely covered by a metal helmet except for the two holes for his eyes and his mouth is lined with small, stubby teeth. Even from afar I can smell his stink, not so much of sweat as of darkness and hatred and no desire to ever be clean. Though his species comes of elves, they are the complete opposite. The moment his fully-armored legs get to the top of the stairs, he leaps towards me, and I swing my ax at him. It cuts through the armor between his legs and he goes down, holding himself in agony. Another is quickly followed and meets my ax with his chest.

"Legolas!" I shout above the din of battle. "Two already!"

"I'm at least on number 20!" he shouts back before returning his attention to the Uruk-hais in front of him. His bow is now hanging on his quiver and he is wielding two knives of elvish make. I watch for a moment as he cuts down an Uruk-hai with one graceful movement. "23!" he shouts back at me.

With an angry exclamation, I turn my back on him and start fighting the Uruk-hais around me. I need to increase that count. A pointy-eared prissy elf will NOT be outscoring me. I swing my ax at every Uruk-hai I see, cutting down any that comes near me. Swing right, watch the Uruk-hai start to fall in death, turn around and swing left. Repeat. No Uruk-hai manages to get behind me and none that come near me escape my ax. Slowly, the din of battle falls away and all I see is the next Uruk-hai that will die and the movement of light blonde hair to my right as the Elf fights near me. Aragorn is nowhere to be seen, but I trust that he is still safe. There is where I must find hope.

"Legolas! Bring him down!" Aragorn suddenly shouts. I look around in between strikes and see him running towards Legolas, who has an arrow nocked in his bow and is aiming for something, or someone. He fires. "Bring him down!" Aragorn shouts again. Legolas fires another arrow.

The stone beneath me flies skyward with a deafening roar. I fly with it a few feet, then fall heavily back on the wall. Not all are quite that lucky. Even through the dust clouding the air I can see some land on the spears of Uruk-hais waiting in front of what was once the wall. Their faces are bloody, or their garments are. Many eyes that had once held laughter and fear gaze at the world unseeing, two orbs in a mask of the being's final expression of horror. I shudder at the thought of what that flight must have felt like.

I glance around, still choking on the particles of dust clouding the air and try to cough them from my throat to no avail. Around me, the stone that had shot up comes back down, but it does so slowly, as if resisting the pull of gravity. Massive blocks of it fall right past where I am lying, but thankfully none but a few small pebbles hit me. Further along, I see Aragorn lying in the hole in the wall created by the explosive, his eyes closed, hair matted and dusty, well-worn clothing torn in long gashes. He lies still as if in death.

"Aragorn!" I cry and leap down from the wall to his aid. Uruk-hais are coming, but he seems unconscious. With fear in my heart I run to him, bending by his head. "Aragorn!" I cry again, though at a lesser volume. The Uruk-hais are closing in behind me. Desperately I shake his shoulder, praying that he is still alive.

Slowly, he finally opens one eye, a low groan of discomfort escaping his lips. He turns his head to the side, as if to see all that is occurring. His other eye snaps open suddenly and he leaps to his feet.

"Gimli! Back!" he cries. I spin in time to meet an Uruk-hais' sword with my ax. He pushes down quite heavily, but still I am stronger and before he realizes what has happened my ax is in his neck. He goes down stiffly, just to be replaced by another. With Aragorn beside me, I start finding the rhythm of the fight. Swing right, slice the neck of an Uruk-hai, pause, swing left for the other Uruk-hai's neck and repeat. The mass keeps coming, and I keep swinging. Soon, a pile rests at my feet, and still more come. I feel my energy slowly starting to wane. Beside me, Aragorn is fighting like he's had new life breathed into him, killing Uruk-hais as if it were child's play. His sword gleams in the numerous flashes of lightning that illuminate the darkening sky. He too has a pile at his feet.

"Aragorn!" I suddenly call. "Have you seen Legolas?"

"What? No! I lost sight of him after the blast!" he calls back.

I don't bother replying. Fear clenches at my heart. Legolas got separated from us. An Uruk-hai pack is hunting him. Frantically, I look around the field of battle. I cannot see far, for the Uruk-hai are annoying tall, but it is enough. In the distance I see a length of blonde hair moving away from us. It is flitting through the crowd, but something about its movement isn't natural. It isn't a smooth wave like I have grown accustomed to seeing, but rather a mess of zig-zagging strands, as if the Elf is trying to go in one direction but is being pulled in another. They'd finally caught up to us. They got Legolas.

"Aragorn! Get your men out of there!" a voice shouts from above. I do not need to look around to know that his advice will be heeded, that my time and Legolas's is running out.

"Back to the Keep!" Aragorn yells to the men around us, turning to retreat. I don't move to follow him though, and he notices. "Come! Gimli! Retreat! Back to the Keep!"

"Not without my Elf," I yell back at him, and plunge into the fray. Many arms try to grab me, but I break free of their grasp. Soon, the hands stop and I am running along the wall, dodging the strikes of the Uruk hai who are incredibly intent on getting into the Keep and thus scarcely notice a mere dwarf and killing those that dare get near. In the distance, I see more blonde hair, but it is now matted, with none of its previous shine. "Not my Elf!" I shout at the Uruk-hai and begin swinging anew. "Not my Elf!" An Uruk-hai falls at every word. "Find another Elf! You do not get to harm my Elf! Not my Elf!" Before I know it, I am running, heedless of the noise around me, swinging my ax with no goal but to get to Legolas. They'd taken him away from the main battle to an area where they are unlikely to be disturbed, and there is little chance of rescue. But a rescue he will get. I follow the path around the wall, trying to keep him in sight. He is just ahead. He is close. I can see the blonde hair, the warrior's braid he always has.

But I am not quick enough. Even as I watch, still running to him through the quiet air, an Uruk-hai steps behind him with a blade in his hand. Thin elven arms wrap around his body in protest, but to no avail. There are too many for Legolas to handle alone. A massive Uruk-hai steps behind the first, obscuring my sight, but for once I am grateful not to know. A cry of pain like no other, so beautiful and so raw it stops me in my tracks, sounds across the Deep. It is followed by many more, each with more agony than the last. Slowly, the sound quiets. Around me the Uruk-hai laugh and sneer. The silence that follows rings loudly in my ears. They had hurt him. They had harmed my Elf. They had possibly even—oh, I can't even think it.

With a cry of anger and a promise to avenge his suffering, I start fighting again, stronger and better than before. "Not my elf, you bastards! Not my Elf!" I shout and with every word, I get closer to my goal.

He is lying in the dirt, his legs tucked in as if he is trying to protect himself. His back is red with his own blood, the remains of his tunic hanging off him in tattered rags. His rear and leggings have suffered a similar fate. His face is covered in ugly blue bruises that do not belong on his fair features. His golden hair, once so long and shining, is a matted mess stained red anywhere it touched his back. The warrior braid he always had is gone, leaving only a jagged line as a painful reminder. The rest of his hair has also been cut as if with a knife so few strands reach his shoulders. What worries me the most, though, are his eyes. They are closed, not as if he's blocking out the pain but as if he was asleep. Only, he sleeps with his eyes open. The Uruk hai around him notice my coming and as a mass attack. I swing violently, tirelessly. I do not know how or where this desperate strength comes from but miraculously it proves enough. The Uruk-hai who had dared harm Legolas lie dead around him.

Gently, I move to face him and reach out a hand to touch his shoulder. That at least seems to still be whole. He shudders under my grasp, and his blue eyes snap open.

"Gimli?" he mumbles.

"Ay, laddie, it is I," I say.

"Aragorn?" he asks concernedly, moving to sit up. He barely makes it to his elbows before he collapses. I place a hand on his arm to stop any further attempts.

"He's safe in the Keep."

"What happened?" he asks.

"The Uruk-hai attacked. There was a blast, and you got separated from us. The Uruk-hais got you."

"The Uruk-hais…!"

"Are gone for now but they'll be back. We need to get you back to the Keep, and quickly."

He just shakes his head in response. "I can't walk, Gimli," he says, a deep sadness flooding his eyes. "I will only be a burden."

"I'll carry you then," I retort. "I am not leaving you out here."

"You have to," he counters, but his voice is frail, weak. I can tell he is fighting to stay conscious and is slowly losing the battle. I shake my head at him, not gratifying the statement with a response.

"Where are you not injured?" I ask instead.

"Neck and calves," he replies with a grim smile. "But you are not carrying me, Gimli. You can't…. You can't."

His voice trails off. I glance at his eyes. They have lost their focus. At long last he has lost the battle with unconsciousness.

With a sigh, I bend down and place one hand under his neck and the other under his calves. I lift him up, letting him turn in the air so he doesn't harm his back any more than he already did. He is surprisingly light, too light for my liking. As I hurry away from the Keep and the danger within its first wall, I notice that he is horrifically pale, and his eyes show no sign of refocusing. A knot forms in my stomach. If he dies, those Uruk-hais will pay.

I hurry my pace, still holding him firmly to my own body. Out of the corner of my eye, I see an Uruk-hai running towards me, his scimitar raised above his head. In his eyes there is the promise of death. In my arms, Legolas utters a soft moan, the first sound of pain I'd heard from him all night. No, he is not waking up just to be killed.

"You are ok, lad, you're ok," I tell him and start running. The path is rocky and uneven beneath my feet. There is a second, smaller gap in the wall that leads into the caves. To there I run but it seems miles away, and the Uruk-hai is gaining on me. I feel my legs tiring, feel my lungs burn from lack of air and my heart pound in my chest, but I keep running. The Uruk-hai behind me shouts something in its dark language, and suddenly more come from the other side. If I don't make it, I am trapped. If I don't make it, my elf will die.

There is a cry up ahead that chills my blood and gladdens my soul. From behind the wall behind me leaps Aragorn, his silver sword slicing the air and any Uruk-hai in its path. Even as I watch, a pile of bodies forms at his feet for the second time this night. Salvation has come.

"Aragorn!" I yell. "I got my elf!"

That is all that he needs. He hurries to me, cutting down all the Uruk hai in his path. None live to see us slip into the gap and retreat back into the Keep where the Uruk-hais can't get to us yet. We race through the caves to the inner ring of the Keep where a wall separates us from the Uruk hai below. The doors of the Keep are ahead of us, just on top of this wall we have mounted. We are almost safe. Aragorn tries to open the doors but they are firmly shut. He knocks on them in anger, with no results. We are trapped in deadly peril in what was meant to be safety. I turn in time to see Aragorn engage yet another Uruk-hai, one that had managed to follow us after all. Behind him come many more, though not near as many as are below. This is not good. Durin. I can tell from his movements that even he, our Ranger, is tiring. It is only a matter of time before he falls.

Very gently, I lay Legolas down against the doors, moving his arms and legs in so he takes up less room, and go to join Aragorn. He needs my help now. With every swing, his movements get slower, more jagged. The normal power that radiates from him is gone. Even with my assistance, he is still faced with numerous tireless Uruk-hais. His sword shines with each movement in a continuous ray of light. His face is covered in dirt, and there is mud in his black hair. His fingers are red where they grip his sword.

With a jolt, I look around. There is light on the ground, and shadows. The sun is shining. Dawn has come.

Aragorn notices this as well and looks toward the East. A small smile graces his face and I quickly follow his gaze. There, at the top of the hill between two large slabs of stones, is Gandalf, proudly sitting on his mare of pure white. He has come at last.

Behind him comes an entire army of horsemen. All are in brown, and armed for battle. The sun reflects off their bronze helmets and sharp spears. The Uruk-hai see them as well, and turn to face this new threat. One of them yells to the others to form ranks, and all of them, even those intent on harming Aragorn, Legolas and I, hurry away to follow that command. They had just made it to the groups when, like a river flooding in a cave, the horsemen race down the battle with a fierce cry. Gandalf is in front of them all, his white staff raised high. Never have I been more thankful to see him alive and well. A bright light shines from his staff, blinding the Uruk-hais and with the sound of thunder the likes of which I have never heard, the horsemen meet the enemy. Arrows fly through the air, and the ground trembles beneath the pounding of the horses' hooves. I hear the despairing cries of fear and pain as many Uruk-hais meet their end at the hands of men. Our saviors have come at last.

"Aragorn! Come!" a hurried whisper sounds from behind us. I glance over my shoulder and nearly go weak with relief. There, standing with his hand holding the door open and a frown on his face, is the son of Théoden. He is bloody, but alive. Beside him on the ground, Legolas's eyes refocus and a small sound of pain escapes him, but I do not notice it. He is still alive.

With careful, gentle arms Aragorn picks up the Elf and carries him inside. We are guided to a healer's ward, where a young nurse instructs Aragorn to lay him down on one of the clean white beds. The sounds of battle are still heard, but they are distant. Here we are safe, at least for now.

I feel the battle catching up to me. Exhaustion suddenly clings to my limbs, and the smell of Uruk-hai blood floods my nose enough to make me gag. The adrenaline that had fueled me all night slowly disappears, leaving an emptiness behind. My legs cave out from under me and I fall into a chair by the bed. Above me, Legolas sighs quietly.

"Ok, so what has happened here?" the nurse asks herself. She wears standard clothing of healers, her brown hair is in a tight bun at the back of her head and her blue eyes spark with intellect. "Well, every inch of him seems to be hurt in some way." She gently runs her hands over Legolas's ribs; he flinches away from her, his eyes flying open. He tries to move away from her hands, but accidentally touches his back to the bed and flinches from that right into them. There's a slightly panicked look in his eyes.

"Peace, Legolas!" Aragorn says, laying a gentle hand on the elf's shoulder. Legolas calms with his words, shifting slightly into a more comfortable position. Only when he is still again does Aragorn step away, but he remains in easy reach. I move my chair so I too can be seen by the elf. He relaxes a bit more.

Slowly, the nurse examines his front, asking him first to lay flat on his back, which I refuse to let him do, then to give her his hand, and to sit up. He tries to do as she says, but his body doesn't permit it. Whenever she touches his skin, he flinches in pain. He tries not to, I can tell he does, but it is too much for him. With every failure a deeper sadness grows in his blue eyes. Eventually, the nurse goes behind him, taking note of his numerous injuries. She tries to peel off his clothing to get better access, but it is stuck to the skin on his back. She tries the clothing at the base of his spine and at his rear. Legolas jumps in surprise when she touches him, emitting a small sound of pained protest. His pointy ears and neck go bright red, and his eyes close for a moment as he ducks his head. The nurse watches this in confusion.

"Aragorn?" he squeaks.

"Yes?" the other responds. He is answered by a plea in Legolas's eyes. "Oh, a curse be on the modesty of elves" Aragorn smiles, turning to the nurse. "Miss? Can you please get my friend some clothing?"

"Something of natural, soft material that covers most of his skin is preferred," I add. The Elf sends a mock glare my way, but his relief is evident. Never did I expect anyone to value modesty and cleanliness enough to be disturbed by the lack of it even when in agony.

The nurse runs off to get the requested clothing, leaving the three of us alone.

"Thank you," Legolas breaths. We just smile at him, glad to see he is not yet lost spiritually. Quickly, and with skilled hands, Aragorn gets to work. I try to help him in any way I can, bringing bandages and plant leaves and roots, boiling water, handing him shining medical instruments. He sets it all up on a table next to his patient and continues to gently try to peel away the cloth. Legolas flinches occasionally, and by willpower alone does he not lose consciousness numerous times. It is only when his torso is bare that I see how much my elf had truly suffered. His front and back is covered in bright red, angry cuts inflicted with strength and malice. Most of them still bleed, hiding the skin beneath in a horrific layer of red. There is barely enough room for a child of three summers to place a hand on him and not touch scars. Only the tops of his shoulders are free from them.

"Who did this, Legolas?" Aragorn breaths.

"Yrch," he replies in his own tongue, pain and shame tightening his voice. Aragorn just nods his understanding.

"What hurts the most?" he asks a moment later, after the significant silence has passed.

"Everything, Aragorn," Legolas replies.

"Alright. Let's start with your hands then," Aragorn says, gently taking one into his own. Legolas flinches and tries to retract it, but thinks better of it and lets Aragorn take care of it. The latter examines it a bit, moving the fingers, bending the knuckles and feeling through the palm for any other broken bones. Legolas hisses through much of the procedure, but remains still. I can't imagine him being in anything less than agony. Aragorn notices that as well, and sends me for a particular plant. I find it eventually and return. It gets boiled into a drink of dull blue that smells of lavender. Even the scent is enough to calm my nerves. I close my eyes, breathing in its sweet scent. What it would be to stay in this calm forever.

"No," Legolas suddenly exclaims, startling me out of my thoughts. "Aragorn, no! I am not sleeping!"

"You need to, Legolas," the Ranger patiently replies. "It is the only way to ease your pain."

"I don't care about the pain. I refuse to sleep!"

"Legolas—"

"No!" There is a slightly wild look in his eyes when he says this, and his eyes are looking right into Aragorn's. I have heard that it is difficult to stare down an elf and not be influenced by them. This is what Legolas is trying to use now, but Aragorn is immune to it. Years in Rivendell have given him much practice.

"Come on, ye pointy-ear," I say, coming to stand by Legolas's head and effectively breaking the staring contest. "Drink. It'll do you good."

"I don't want to sleep, Gimli," he says. His eyes plead with me to let him be, to not do this to him. He is more vulnerable than I have ever seen him. My heart bleeds for him, but I do not relent.

"You'll be ok, Legolas," I say gently, resting my free hand on his shoulder. "Aragorn and I are right here. If any try to get to you, they will meet my ax and his sword. You are safe."

With that, much to Aragorn's surprise, Legolas starts to hesitantly move to take the cup from my hand. I quickly bring it to his lips before he can discover that he can't move his hand enough to hold the cup. The sadness in his eyes still deepens. "What have I become?" he asks before letting his eyes lose their focus in sleep.

"A survivor," I say. In sleep, his mouth twitches into a smile.


	2. Chapter 2

With Legolas asleep, Aragorn quickly starts to bandage his hands and feet, and clean his other numerous wounds. I soon find myself washing the elf's front of blood and dirt while Aragorn works on his back. I try my best to be gentle, but some of the dirt gets stubborn and dwarves aren't known for their healing abilities. I pray that the warm water and smooth towel I'm used to bring some comfort to him, asleep though he may be. He shouldn't have had to suffer in the first place. He's a warrior elf, one of many such beings. Mirkwood alone has many fine archers; why did the Uruk-hais target this one. _He's part of the Fellowship_ a little voice tells me in the back of my mind. I quickly shut it down. That shouldn't have been that important. The Fellowship is done, broken, ended. We all got separated on that cursed river. He is just a Hunter now, nothing more. An elf who is friends with a man and a dwarf. That can't be unheard of. I mean, sure there's the feud but why does that make him a target? Why him? There are others. Why my elf?

"Gimli!" Aragorn calls out, snapping me out of my thoughts. I glance up from my work. The cloth Legolas is lying on is completely red with his blood but he is clean. His eyes are still unfocused in sleep. "Can you get me a blanket? I'm going to need to remove his leggings a bit."

I nod and start searching. A moment later, though, the nurse comes bustling in carrying a stack of clothing. It is clothing of Men and I immediately know that Legolas won't like it, though he'll pretend to for the sake of the people who gave it to him so generously. She takes one look at Legolas's clean body and hands, which Aragorn had set right again and wrapped in bandages so many times Legolas won't be able to move his fingers no matter how hard he tries, and immediately goes to his side.

"Have you set the bones in his hands properly?" she asks Aragorn, picking up a bandaged hand. She then moves to inspect his work but freezes, her face going white in horror. "He's dead! Why are you taking care of a dead being! He's dead! Oh Valar!" She sits heavily into the chair I'd vacated, her hand at her forehead. Aragorn watches her with concern in his eyes.

"He's not dead," I tell her.

"Yes-yes he is. Look at his eyes. They're-they're glazed. He's dead!"

"No, he isn't. He's asleep. Elves sleep with their eyes open," Aragorn explains. The nurse starts shaking her head, denying his words. She starts muttering under her breath about losing the dream of working on another species, of seeing something so fair dead in her care. I ask her to get us a blanket, that we need it now to comfort ourselves. That reaches her and she runs off again, nodding her head as she leaves. Some nurse. She'd probably actually kill my elf and believe she has healed him. The moment the door closes behind her, Aragorn and I exchange a glance before getting back to work. He comes around to the front of Legolas and starts examining and bandaging or stitching the cuts according to their need. I watch from behind him, occasionally handing him another medical instrument whose name I only know because he'd described them to me as he was setting them up. Legolas only wakes up right after we'd finished with his front and are moving to the back. The nurse had just returned with the blanket, tear marks still on her face. She quickly handed them to me, and moved to leave, keeping her eyes away from Legolas. She is by the door when the elf notices her.

"Why is she so sad?" he asks Aragorn. "Has something happened?"

"No," Aragorn starts to reply when the nurse freezes in her steps and comes running back across the healing ward, her small heels clicking on the stone floor.

"He's alive!" she exclaims. "How is he alive? I could have sworn he was dead!"

"I was asleep," Legolas says, confusion in his voice.

"That's what I told her," Aragorn mutters. She, though, is beyond happy, nearly dancing at the prospect of treating an elf. Aragorn and I smile at her joy, and at the look of horror in Legolas's eyes. I smile smugly at him, which only serves to agitate him more. His face shifts to numerous expressions before he can control it, from anger to annoyance to sadness, before becoming one of humiliation. His ears turned bright red, and he softly ducks his head to avoid all eyes. I chuckle lightly.

"We do have a blanket, so she will see little," I tell him. He takes no comfort from it.

"That won't help any if she's the one supposedly healing me," he grumbles in a very unelvish manner.

"Don't worry, Legolas," Aragorn laughs. "If you don't want her, then I'll finish everything and let her take care of you during the recovery."

"Please do," Legolas mutters, not moving his head.

With quick hands, Aragorn arranges the blanket so Legolas's body is mostly covered and begins the process of stitching together his rear. I assist in any way I can, mostly keeping the unhappy elf still enough for Aragorn to work. Legolas jerks in my arms every time Aragorn touches him, even if it is with the warm, wet cloth, and flinches with every stitch Aragorn makes. I try to comfort him, but there is little I can do to ease his pain. I offer him something to make him sleep again, but he refuses it, saying he doesn't want to risk it after the trouble his waking caused. I share a glance with Aragorn at that since Legolas awaking solved our problem, but he stays silent. The nurse notices our glance, but doesn't comment. She is still in the room, in the same chair I vacated near Legolas's head, watching us work. I try to make her leave us, but she insists on staying near her patient. I think she just likes looking at his pretty face.

The elf jerks again under my hands. I again offer him sleep, but he tries to reach for my hand instead. He quickly realizes how impossible such a thing is and listlessly drops his hand again. He groans in pain from the act. The nurse, misinterpreting the sound for one of disappointment, reaches out and gently places her hand on Legolas's face. He flinches away from her, then quickly mutters a soft apology. I stop her before she can try to touch him again, asking her to go and get us some clean towels. She immediately retorts that I should go instead, but Legolas asks me to stay by him. She leaves in a huff.

The moment she is gone, I get up and lock the door she had slammed behind herself.

"There," I smile. "Now she won't be disturbing us anymore." Tension visibly leaves Legolas's body at my words, though it returns just as quick when Aragorn returns to treating his wounds. He yelps a bit, but then quiets. I realize that he has elected to try to fall asleep on his own so he can control when he wakes up. If his fidgeting is any indication, he is not succeeding quite yet. I bring some lavender over ignoring Aragorn's confused gaze, and place it under Legolas's nose. He stills immediately, peacefully entering the world of elven dreams. Aragorn nods his gratitude and continues stitching. Without the interruption of a flinching elf, he finishes the job in a mere ten minutes.

"Ready?" he asks me, reluctantly moving towards the door. I assume he means if I'm ready to go eat or sleep, but I shake my head.

"Why don't you stay here and I'll bring some food in," I suggest. He smiles in relief and returns to the chair near Legolas's head. Slowly, he reaches out to touch the elf's shoulder and gently shakes him awake. I leave with a pained elf watching me with focused eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

The kitchen proves easy to find and the staff very kind. I easily secure enough food for the three of us, and go back on my way to the healer's ward. It is a pleasant stroll, the halls lined with very fine stone and the people very few in number. Most I pass nod in greeting and continue on their way. Nearly all are dressed in browns, the color of Rohan it seems. I am about half way back when I am intercepted by the nurse who had wanted to take care of Legolas but never got a chance.

"Are you taking that to him?" she asks, stepping to walk beside me.

"Yes. He and Aragorn will doubtlessly be asking for it," I reply. Her eyes darken at Aragorn's name.

"Aragorn. Is he a healer?" she questions.

"Ay," I reply, unsure of why she is so bitter if she'll be taking care of Legolas from now until he is well. Aragorn just did the first bit; she'll get to do the rest.

"Where did he learn?"

"Rivendell with the other elves."

"Rivendell? But they do not permit mortals to learn their art."

"They let him."

"Are you sure he didn't do whatever he could in some dark area of the woods and learn everything there?"

"Legolas would still prefer his care to that of another."

"But why?" she presses. Fortunately I am spared the need to answer by a young child hurrying up to me. Never have I been so grateful for the arrival of a stranger. He is of Men, and has seen about nine summers, maybe even ten. His black hair flies behind him as he runs, his golden brown eyes watching me the entire time.

"You are with the elf, right?" he asks excitedly, bouncing on his toes. I nod. "Oh, can't I just see him sir? I've always wanted to see an elf."

"Nay, lad," I gently tell him. "He is very sick right now, and wouldn't want any visitors." The child's head droops in discouragement. He starts to speak, but I cut across him a bit. "Maybe meet when he is well again?" I suggest. He perks up immediately.

"Will you introduce us, sir? Please?" he begs.

"Ay," I smile. "He'd enjoy meeting you, and I'd enjoy watching you meet."

I glance up and find myself at the wooden door to the healing ward. I politely bid the young child good-bye and move to enter. Much to my horror, the child doesn't get the message and rushes in right under my arms. I nearly lose all the food that I'd been carrying, and have to dance to save it all. Aragorn watches all this with amused annoyance, while Legolas sleeps next to him. He awakens at the sound of the child's voice calling out.

"An elf! A real elf! Momma said that they didn't exist! That they were stories of the fire! I get to see an elf!"

With that he runs toward Legolas's bed, but Aragorn deftly stops him mid-stride and sets him down on the ground. I breathe a sigh of relief. Had he landed on Legolas that would have ended very poorly for him and me both. The elf in question smiles at the child's enthusiasm in that warm way of his, inviting conversation and chatter with no restrictions. I am amazed that he is able to do so in the state that he is currently in. The child is awed by the simple act, and just stares at Legolas.

"What is your name, child?" my elf asks gently.

"I-it's Arden," he stammers.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Arden," Legolas replies, carefully shifting a bandaged hand toward his chest and extending it a bit towards the boy. "I'm Legolas."

"Of which land?" the boy asks, feeling empowered by the elf's kindness and letting his curiosity go. It is at this moment, though, that a blonde haired, blue eyed woman comes hurrying into the ward, her eyes frantic. They land upon the child and she swoops down on him.

"Where have you been!?" she scolds. "You had me so worried!"

"But Momma! There's an elf here!" the boy defends. "I'd only wanted to see the elf!"

"You know it is rude to come barging in here on that whim!" the mother exclaims in exasperation. "I am so sorry about him," she tells Legolas. "He is always so curious."

"Oh, his company is a pleasure to have," Legolas replies kindly. The mother smiles with relief. "Though I do wonder why he came to an elf when there is a dwarf here in much better condition and of more entertainment value."

"I am not a source of entertainment for every being I see!" I protest.

"Sure you are!" Legolas counters, but the mischief is forced. I forcefully place his soup on the bed near his head, purposely spilling some onto the bed. He yelps a bit and flinches back from the hot wet spot. This proves a mistake, since he accidentally puts pressure on his back and flinches from that as well. I catch his hand just before it falls into his soup, forcing another wince from him. He calms quickly, but the pain lingers in his eyes. The mother and child notice.

"You are the elf and dwarf pair, aren't you?!" Arden guesses, his eyes shining with joy.

"Ay, unfortunately we are," I admit.

"Oh, everyone's been talking about you! They say it is odd to see such a friendship, weirder still that a dwarf would risk so much for an elf! And for you to admit to it! Is it true that you'd gone after him crying "not my elf"? That's what my friends say but I do not believe it. You are too smart to endanger yourself with such a cry," Arden says.

"Well, then he must be less intelligent than you think," Legolas says, "for he did cry that as he gave chase, and upon finding me as well."

Arden glances between us uncertainly. His mother starts to reach for him to lead him away, but he carefully steps out of her reach.

"Then it must also be true that you carried him here," he guesses, looking at me. I nod, feeling my face flush. I notice Legolas try and fail to shift in discomfort and blush from the admission of his weakness. "However did you manage?" Arden presses.

"He weighs less than you'd think," I say shortly.

"But then he must have been horribly hurt, to need such a thing," the mother gasps, worry and shame in her eyes. "And to have my child be the one to interrupt his healing!"

"It is well, my Lady," Legolas says kindly. "The worst is over. I just need rest now."

"Then you must rest!" the mother exclaims. "Come, Arden. Do not disturb him."

Once again, she grabs for her son, who isn't quick enough to escape a second time. With a firm grasp, she starts to pull him toward the door, him pouting the entire time and walking as slowly as he can without being dragged. She apologizes again before opening the door and moving to step through. It is then that Arden decides to voice his protests.

"But Momma! He never answered my question!" he exclaims. She glances at him in exasperation, deciding whether to scold him or just pull him through the door and let us be.

"Which one?" Legolas asks from his bed, making her decision for her. She sighs her annoyance at the wait, but lets her child go back into the room and closes the door.

"The one about where you are from?" Arden says.

"Mirkwood," Legolas replies. Even as the word leaves his mouth he loses the battle with exhaustion and his eyes start to lose their focus as he enters the land of elven dreams. Slowly as the mother and child watch, his body loses its tension and his head falls deeper into the pillow. Before the others know how to react, his eyes are glazed and he knows nothing more. Arden watches this with horror in his eyes, something that Aragorn doesn't miss. He motions for him and his mother to follow him to the corridor outside, a finger at his lips impressing the need for them to be quiet. They obey, and I follow them out as well.

"Did he die?" Arden whispers the moment the door closes, tears glistening in his young eyes.

"No," Aragorn says, "he did not die. He fell asleep."

"But his eyes. They were open still, and with no life in them!" the mother exclaims, sadness evident in her voice.

"Elves are strange creatures, my Lady," I say. "They sleep with their eyes open."

"So he'll live?" Arden asks, hope lining his voice.

"Yes, he'll live," Aragorn smiles. "You can see him again tomorrow when he awakes again."

"He'll sleep that long! I thought only babies did that!" Arden exclaims.

"You do that too," his mother tells him, a fact he vehemently protests.

"I do not!" he growls, glaring at his mother in a child's fashion.

"Maybe you don't," Aragorn laughs, "but Legolas will if I have to force lavender down his throat."

"Lavender sir?" the mother questions, her head tipping a bit in her curiosity.

"It's for sleep. He hates it" I say. I turn to Aragorn beside me. "Though, he hates it more coming from your hand than mine."

"I noticed that as well," Aragorn agrees, an exasperated look in his eye. "That elf would trust a dwarf more than his longtime friend and loyal healer."

"I am also a friend!" I protest. Arden laughs quietly at our little argument. It is the purpose of the entire thing, and Aragorn lets the topic drop with a smile sent my way.

"But would he mind Arden's company?" his mother asks in concern.

"I don't believe so," I say.

"He certainly won't," Aragorn adds. "I've healed him enough times to know."

The mother smiles in apparent relief and with a final word and apology, the two leave us. I watch as Arden now pulls his mother along, doubtlessly eager to tell his friends of his adventures. Together, they end up running down the hall, Arden's voice floating happily behind him. _There is the joy of this night_ I decide, turning at last to go back to my sleeping friend, my heart lighter than it has been in a while.


End file.
